


Doubleheader

by gwyneth rhys (gwyneth)



Series: Batter Up (Baseball) [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Baseball, Birthday, Fireworks, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Is Terrible at Double Entendres part two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:35:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4266885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyneth/pseuds/gwyneth%20rhys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky hooked his thumbs over Steve’s suspenders and slid them off his shoulders, pulled the tails of his shirt out of his trousers, as Steve watched him with heated eyes. “What are we at now,” Bucky asked, “second base, or third?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doubleheader

**Author's Note:**

> A little sequel to Batter Up. Happy birthday, Steve Rogers! You magnificent, life-ruining bastard, you.

Bucky turned toward Steve as they settled themselves on the roof, watching his friend’s glum face as he took in the surroundings. The holey blanket he’d brought along did nothing to lessen the lumpy, gravelly discomfort of the surface, but Bucky was pretty sure that wasn’t what bothered Steve. He’d had that sad puss all day, his mind a thousand miles away from where they sat now, waiting to see the fireworks kick off farther off in the distance. 

Bucky wasn’t supposed to be up here, he had learned that with a nasty cuff to the ear shortly after he’d begun working in the building. The manager hated it when the fellas came up here for smoke breaks or with their lunches, and Bucky suspected it was because parts of the roof were failing and he didn’t want to have to fix them since he was such a cheap sonofabitch. But Bucky figured since it was a holiday--much more than that to him, really a special occasion in Steve’s birthday--who’d even be around to fight them about it? He’d stuck a loose board under the door handle and kept well away from the edges, but he was pretty confident no one would be coming up here and where they sat was safe--it was just him and Steve, alone together, away from the paper-thin walls of their hot and sticky apartment. Steve sat next to him, arms wrapped around his knees, his shoulder tucked into Bucky’s side, watching as the dazzling lights began blossoming across the skyline. Right on time.

Steve squirmed and wiggled, glowering, and Bucky barked out a laugh, tossing his jacket to Steve and telling him to set his scrawny rump on that. In truth, his scrumptious little behind was the only thing on his body with any meat to it, yet apparently it was still too bony without extra padding. Bucky had lost count of the times he’d fantasized about sinking his teeth right into those perfect, plush little globes of Steve’s ass one of these days, but he flicked that thought away as he reached out to push Steve’s bangs off to the side, drawing his thumb across Steve’s forehead as he did. “You okay?” Bucky asked. The whole day had felt like one long held breath, waiting for the chance to ask Steve what was eating him, but it had never come; Steve was so prickly and got so sore when asked that question, which Bucky understood, but...he needed to exhale now.

“Hard to believe it’s my first birthday without her, is all,” Steve said, his voice just that side of a quaver. Pretty much what Bucky’d figured. In the morning it had been tough to get Steve out of bed, even though Bucky had a game and Steve loved to watch him play, still loved to see him in the uniform, and Bucky loved to enjoy Steve loving it. There was nothing that got Steve quite so hot and bothered as returning to their place, Bucky all sweaty and dirty after a game, talking about the plays and undressing each other. But today they hadn’t had the luxury of going home alone afterward, since Bucky’d bought tickets for the second half of the Dodgers’ doubleheader that would start right after his own game ended and they’d had a chance to celebrate with the fellas.

Bucky’d been planning the day for a while, hoping he could make Steve’s first birthday without his ma as painless as possible. For the most part, Steve handled himself okay since Mrs. Rogers had died, sometimes he even took down the walls he’d always kept up, allowing others to show him kindness when he was usually so thorny to everyone but Bucky. But with his birthday not that long on the heels of losing her, Steve would have it much tougher than any time since the funeral, even counting when he’d cleared the apartment of her things. Bucky’d thought maybe keeping Steve’s mind off of it, keeping him occupied, would be the secret, but it was obvious from the time Steve had grudgingly climbed out of bed that he’d been mistaken. Before they’d left home, he’d caught Steve looking at the card Mrs. Rogers had given him on his birthday last year, closing his damp eyes against the tears before putting it back inside the tin he kept his art supplies in, along with some of her mementos. During Bucky’s game, Steve’s gaze had been so far away, and at Ebbets Field, he hadn’t even bothered to write down stats the way he usually did.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it any better. I know none of this is--I just thought maybe it’d take your mind off things.”

“No, it was good. Really. Thanks.” But the words were hollow; Steve would never say that kind of thing if it had truly been a good day. He’d just make a wiseass remark, hurl an insult, and punch Bucky in the arm to show his appreciation. Not that the way they’d always talked, the way they did everything, hadn’t changed since they’d started fooling around a few weeks ago--because boy oh boy had it changed--but that much, Bucky knew, was the same. Steve was still a stubborn little fucker who thought anyone showing him concern meant they thought he couldn’t hack it on his own, and Bucky still wanted to punch him in the kisser half the time because of it.

They watched the fireworks for a while, silently, the heat of Steve’s arm flaring along Bucky’s. He wanted to get out of this uniform and wash up, and then cover Steve in kisses and go to sleep tangled up in each other, all sweaty and stuck together. 

“At least those fuckin’ mooks won tonight. If they’d’a lost the second half too it wouldn’t have been much of a present, especially against the goddamn Phillies. Glad I had to pick the late instead of the early game. And hey, look, now we got fireworks. Two ball games, dinner, and a show--I know how to show a fella a good time,” he said, winking. 

Oh, finally there was a smile from Steve, even though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Still, when he watched Steve’s profile, he could see a spark in his eyes, glittering now with a little more mischief than sadness. “And you guys won, too. You’re knocking ’em out of the park every game so far, you’re the best guy on that team. They don’t know how lucky they are.” That was the most words strung together Steve had said to him all day.

“Ah, says you.” He never could tell Steve that he was the reason Bucky was playing so well, that having Steve there made him always want to be his best. It hurt his heart, sometimes, knowing that Steve couldn’t really play ball like he wanted to. When they’d been kids, Steve was always the last one chosen for games if Bucky wasn’t a captain, because anything more than a couple short rounds of stickball could send him into fits. There’d been more than a few times where Bucky had let another fella know with a curled-up fist or a curled-up lip that if he didn’t ask Steve to join them, he’d find out just how strong Bucky’s right hook was. And the thing was, they could have done worse. Steve’s catching was superb, he had a real knack for guessing which way a ground ball might hop, but it was the throwing farther than the infield, and definitely the running, that did him in. He wasn’t the worst batter, or the best, reliably middle of the road, but he had so much heart. That was always the thing that killed Bucky--how hard Steve tried. Even if Steve hadn’t been his best friend, if you asked Bucky, that kind of enthusiasm should be rewarded, not scorned or ridiculed. 

“I was thinking...I could talk to the fellas, see if you could join us on the team. Be our relief in case someone gets injured or sick. It’s not like we got a deep bench.”

Or any bench at all. Steve just side-eyed him. “I doubt there’s enough money you could pay them for that.” He closed his fingers over Steve’s forearm.

“Why you gotta talk like that.” Steve’d be fine at second base; they could shuffle everyone else around as necessary to put their stronger players where they were needed. “And anyway, maybe I just want to see what kinda dish _you’d_ be in a uniform. Ever think of that, wiseass?” He slid his hand along the top edge of Steve’s ass, just below the waist of his trousers.

Ah, there it was, a full-on Steve Rogers grin, and Bucky thought he’d melt right here on the roof. “I always thought you coulda been in the big leagues,” Steve said, wistful. “That you shoulda tried to keep going for it after school.” The fireworks would be ending in a while, everyone heading home, and Bucky didn’t want to have to navigate the crush of people with Steve feeling this way. It had been a long day for Steve what with how he tired so easily, even if he was a lot stronger these days, and they both had to work the next day. But where they were now was a perfect spot, they could almost believe they were the only ones around for miles. Only one nearby building was taller, and it was blocked from a view of them by the large roof-access stairwell door. It might be fun to mess around up here, see if the possibility of discovery gave Steve a thrill. Steve’s whole life had been about accepting dares from people who didn’t think he could or would do something, and then double-daring right back, much to Bucky’s delight and dismay. 

He dropped a tender kiss on Steve’s cheek, still amazed that he was allowed to do that, and Steve flicked his eyes up to Bucky’s face, dug his left shoulder into Bucky’s right. 

“You’re a good pal,” Steve said, a little breathlessly, and Bucky almost couldn’t hear him. 

“Told you, you don’t have to go it alone.” Steve closed his eyes and nodded, the Adam’s apple in his throat moving up and down as he swallowed back his sadness. Bucky couldn’t know what it felt like, he hadn’t lost anyone so important to him yet, and as much as he loved his family, none of them had the connection with him that Steve had had with his mother. And as much as he’d loved Mrs. Rogers--who’d been a second mother to him--Bucky could never comprehend the shattering grief of a son who’d had only her his entire life.

Bucky buried his fingers in Steve’s wispy blond hair and pulled Steve’s mouth to his. He tasted of root beer and Nathan’s and hot summer days. The noise of the city and the fireworks hushed as he pushed Steve down onto his jacket, reaching underneath him to arrange it so that nothing poked Steve too sharply.

“Is this okay?” Bucky asked him in between kisses, propping himself up on his elbows. The last thing Bucky would want to do was nudge Steve into fooling around if his heart wasn’t in it. “If you’d rather go home, we don’t gotta stay here. It’s almost over, anyhow.”

“It’s nice up here. Cooler.” Where Bucky’s team played, there was no good place to sit out of the sun, so Steve was all pinked up across his cheeks and forehead, he could see it even in the darkness, and Bucky kissed his freckles, down along his throat. 

Even after all the weeks since he’d first kissed Steve, or Steve had kissed him--there was still some debate about who’d been the one with the balls to do it first--they hadn’t ventured too far in their explorations of what two fellas could do with each other. Probably neither one of them wanted to seem greedy or pushy, risk their friendship, but sometimes it was challenging, because Bucky wanted Steve with a ferocity that constantly startled him. He’d catch himself thinking about the various things he could do with Steve, a mad rager sporting up in his trousers, as if the thought had just blown in between his ears with no effort on his part and he was damned if he could get rid of it.

They’d begun slow, of course, just kissing, or rubbing one out while they necked or as they watched each other, till they started touching each other the way they liked to be touched, satisfying their curiosity. Moving from “you could touch it” to something else seemed...monumental, but Bucky thought about it all the time, how much he wanted to say “you can kiss it” or “you can suck it” and watch Steve turn crimson even as he cussed and bent his head to do it. Last week Bucky had pulled Steve atop him and they’d ground their dicks together, necking and fondling, until Bucky had put his mouth on Steve’s nipple, and Steve had popped off like one of those fireworks. He wanted to make Steve feel that way tonight, wanted to bite and lick him all over, touch the parts of him he’d never dared yet.

Bucky hooked his thumbs over Steve’s suspenders and slid them off his shoulders, pulled the tails of his shirt out of his trousers, as Steve watched him with heated eyes. “What are we at now,” Bucky asked, “second base, or third?”

“I don’t know if I know how that works for fellas,” Steve said dryly, and oh, there he was, Bucky’s best guy.

“Well, then, we can make up whatever fuckin’ rules we want,” he said, unzipping Steve’s pants and finding his way in to unsnap his shorts. Steve was fumbling at Bucky’s belt before undoing it and sliding his hand into the fly of his pants. 

“If this was a game, I’m pretty sure half these things would be illegal, anyhow.”

“Like a spitball?” Bucky asked as he spit into his palm and slid it over the head of Steve’s cock. Steve gasped and shuddered and oh, that was so good, the hot velvety texture of it in Bucky’s hand and watching Steve’s pinkening face, mouth parted slightly, lips wet. 

“Too bad we ain’t got any grease with us, could try that too,” Steve said, trying hard to sound casual but the quiver in his voice betraying him. Bucky licked a stripe along Steve’s throat, sucked on the skin where his shoulder met his neck, and Steve giggled helplessly, too ticklish to hack it.

“What other pitches you got? Anything legal?” Steve said eagerly, arching up into Bucky’s swiftly moving hand. God, just watching him was gonna make Bucky come right here, Steve wouldn’t even have to touch him back.

“Curveball,” Bucky said, biting Steve’s throat and twisting his hand as he stroked. “How ’bout a knuckleball,” he groaned against Steve’s ripe mouth, and pressed the first knuckles of his fingers to the underside of Steve’s cock, running them up along the shaft. 

“Oh!” was all Steve could squeak out, and Bucky laughed so hard he choked. “ _Fuck_ ,” Steve added with enthusiasm.

“How about a sliding--” Bucky said, and yanked his pants and shorts down so he could grab both their dicks in his hand, rubbing over them at the same time. Both of them were slippery already, the friction was delicious, and Steve’s fingers dug into his arms as he writhed and panted. 

“Fuck, that’s a--a doubleheader,” Steve said, and busted out laughing so hard his entire body shook with it, and Bucky couldn’t stop himself from laughing either. They were giggling helplessly as Bucky tried to keep them together in his hand, but he was weak from laughing and had to roll onto his side. 

“You’re such a goof,” Bucky said, wiping at his face with the hand that wasn’t still on Steve’s dick. Steve reached over to slip his fingers around Bucky’s shaft, moving his hand up and down, slowly at first and then more and more rapidly. 

“Why don’t I show you my fastball,” Steve said, “bring the heat,” but Bucky pushed his hand away and climbed back to his position over Steve. He wanted to hold them both at the same time again, watch Steve’s face shine when he came, brighter than anything they’d seen in the sky tonight. But then he changed his mind. Ever since they’d first touched each other, Bucky’d desperately wanted to try sucking Steve off. All those years he’d listened to the way the jerks at work or school had talked about the fast girls they’d dated doing that for them and he’d thought it sounded amazing, but...Bucky hadn’t yet dated a girl he would have asked that of, and he didn’t want anything to change with the types of gals he went on dates or danced with. Somehow it felt different with Steve, though--all the things they could do and the things they weren’t allowed to. It seemed like something fellas who were almost stepping out together _should_ do for one another.

“It’s your birthday, Steve, can I give you another present?” 

Steve swallowed hard. “You’ve already given me a great day.”

“This is...” He cleared his throat. “Can I kiss it?” he asked softly as he touched Steve’s dick, but didn’t wait for an answer. He slid down Steve’s body and put his lips to the slick, flushed head of Steve’s cock, and hearing Steve gasp above him was all the affirmation he needed. It was nothing like he’d imagined it in all his fantasies; he’d worried he might gag or the taste would be awful, but he loved it, the hot skin musky and salty with sweat under his tongue, and that tangy, sunny-warm scent all around, something Bucky couldn’t put his finger on but that he’d just come to think of as...Steve, whatever it was. It had been driving him crazy since they’d moved in together, maybe even before that, and he loved burying his nose against Steve’s skin to inhale it, lap it up. 

He licked Steve’s cock, experimentally pulled it further into his mouth to see how it felt, before he began a rhythm of moving his head up and down as he sucked and licked. With his index finger, he teased at Steve’s balls, cupped them in his palm. His own balls felt like they would burst from how much this was getting him off, so Bucky mirrored the pace of his mouth with his hand on himself, slowing and quickening with Steve’s breaths. The power he had to make Steve writhe and moan softly was exhilarating, Steve was always silent during sex except for his little panting breaths and gasps. Then Steve was stiffening beneath him, whispering “Buck, Buuuck” before bursting in his mouth, hot and bitter. It caught Bucky by surprise, just enough that he couldn’t keep all of it in his mouth, but he figured that didn’t really matter and with a few more strokes Bucky came all over his own hand.

He shifted up on the blanket next to Steve and they stared at each other for a while, breathing heavily. Steve took his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped at Bucky’s face, his hands, little delicate swipes that made Bucky’s heart go tender. 

Steve’s mug had grown solemn again and a flash of worry ignited inside Bucky--that this was too much, he’d taken this a step too far beyond what Steve was willing to do with another fella--that Steve didn’t want to think of either of them as _that kind of guy_. But then Steve kissed him, as if to taste himself in Bucky’s mouth, and grinned wickedly and said, “Well, those balls were certainly high and inside,” and they both dissolved into giggles again. “At least it wasn’t a slow dribbler.”

“Oh god, that’s _awful_ ,” Bucky said gleefully.

“It was a good squeeze play, though.”

“Stop. You’re the worst at this, you really are.”

“It’s all I got,” Steve answered, doing up Bucky’s pants and belt before turning to his own, then wrapping his arms around his knees and staring down at Bucky. “My wit and my brains. I gotta work with what I have.”

“Then you are in big trouble, mister.” He sat up and threw his arm over Steve’s shoulders and kissed his temple. “But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”

“You always make me laugh, you and your ridiculous mug.” He rubbed his face against Bucky’s shoulder. “Thanks, Buck. Not for the...you know, though that was pretty spectacular. Just--for being such a good friend.”

“I know that things are gonna be bad for a long while. There’s a lot of firsts ahead of you, all the things you never had to do without her before. Of course you’re gonna feel sad about it. I ain’t gonna be one of those people who tell you that you shouldn’t be sad. But I’m right here with you. And if I can do anything that makes you smile, I will.” He couldn’t tell Steve how much he lived for that smile now, how if he did nothing else for the rest of his life but make Steve Rogers smile and forget his hurt for just a few minutes, then that would be a life well-lived.

They watched the sky for a while; everything was so much quieter now, and Bucky could have believed the whole world had disappeared, leaving just the two of them alone up here. It never felt like that in this city, so he wanted to savor it for as long as he could. “You wanna go home and practice some more of those pitches?” Steve asked, his voice low and rumbly, and that made Bucky’s dick twitch inside his pants. He’d never figured out how that deep, rough voice could come from such a small guy, but then, there were a _lot_ of those delicious oddities about his fella. 

Steve’s hand skimmed along inside his thigh. Well, that was enough savoring for now. “You gonna be my relief man?”

Steve groaned and put his face in his hands. “You’re killing me here.” But he looked up through his fingers with one eye, a grin on his face, and that was all Bucky needed, maybe for the rest of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing the scene in [In the Stardust of a Song](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4165845) where Steve clears out his mother's things made me want to write a little more of that--this isn't exactly the same universe, but was kind of inspired by it.
> 
> On July 4th, 1939, the Brooklyn Dodgers won the second game of a doubleheader against the Philadelphia Phillies, trufax.
> 
> [Reblogs and likes on Tumblr](http://teatotally.tumblr.com/post/123182000660/new-fic) and comments/kudos are as powerful as a bases-loaded home run and I will love them forever.


End file.
